The Flying Alchemist
by WitchWarren
Summary: Minor AU. I didn't come this far...for you to make this hard for me. Do you know that I'm fortunate in that right now all the people I care abou-that I can afford to care about...they're all, the majority anyway, are in a place close by where I can watch over and protect them if need be. And if I fail to do that they're more than capable of protecting themselves... Cover art by me


Today was the day she snapped.

Today was the day she – Riza Hawkeye – snapped and reduced all things male to dust

At the moment she was suffering.

Hell! Everyday she was suffering; practically a babysitter to her superior. A superior who didn't deserve one iota of her dedication and hard work, a superior who was currently doing **no **hard work himself and a superior who was also using the damn military line to flirt!

God, she hated days like this.

The office was unoccupied, save for the two officers. As per usual the amount of unfinished paperwork on Colonel Roy Mustang's desk was monumental – proof of his lazy procrastinating ways but, unlike usual, Riza was not going to be the staying after hours to clean it up.

Decision made, she stood. The Colonel sat with his back to his paperwork – and her – in his big swivel chair, his feet up on the windowsill as he happily laughed and chatted with the woman on the phone; a favourite form of procrastination. All the evidence demonstrated that this woman wasn't a part of the network of informants the man had scattered around the city, and possibly throughout Amestris – the majority of the women that contributed his womanizer status – however this particular woman was one of the many he dated for pleasure and ego.

But mostly ego.

It only took a second to decide the best (most threatening) course of action.

It wasn't reckless.

Not even remotely so.

She was an expert in firearms after all.

Taking two swift, silent strides to position herself she professionally unholstered her gun. The safety was the only warning the fool had; moving his head and turning pale in shock and horror a split-second before she fired.

It was spectacular.

The industrial-strength chair, weakened from Mustang's previous position – which he assumed at least twice a day – collapsed under the catalyst of impact. With his weight centred on the chair's missing/structurally unsound leg, gravity (or the deity of irony) took control; sending the man toppling backwards to the desk. His head, which had been peacefully floating above the hard surface, came crashing down on the edge before rising from the force of the impact. When he went down again the top of his head just barely missed its previous target, instead going past the desk and heading towards the floor. The receiver, still caught in hands that were thrashing in an attempt to stop or slow his fast descent, was pulled forward – its cord strained taut – the cradle remaining in place for an instant prior to shooting through the wall of paperwork, sending sheets into the air. His back hit the floor first, his head not far behind, making impact a couple of times from the strength of the collision. Simultaneously the phone sped towards the edge of the desk gaining enough momentum to perform a miniature flip – most likely in response to the sudden wrench of the receiver downward – it paused, seemingly suspended in mid-air for a second before the inevitable happened. Funnily enough the man only had time to gasp the instant the bottom of the heavy metal object hit his skull, his jaw snapping open, rather like a cash register. Paperwork fell like confetti.

The overall effect was classic.

_Buried in his paperwork,_ thought Riza – the cause – her amusement manifesting in a "hmph" before she contained it – and Riza tilted her head accordingly to study it. It then occurred to her how similar this pose was to those of sexist men the world over when checking out a woman's ass.

Irony summoned another muffled noise of amusement. Straightening and holstering her gun, Riza managed to get presentable just in time for her commanding officer to gather his wits (and indignation) about him.

"Lieutenant? What the hell?" Colonel Roy Mustang pried the main body of the phone from where it was wedged in his face, leaving a red box-shaped mark across his eyes and forehead. Riza allowed the humour of the situation to twitch her lips upwards before resuming her usual sober mien. She had just turned rumour into fact by firing at her superior officer; this was a serious offense.

However as she gazed down at her commanding officer trying to pick himself up out of the tangled mess that was the remains of his chair and failing Riza realised she didn't regret it.

In fact, it felt vindicating.

She had _**had it.**_

"Your paper work is urgent, due tomorrow morning — _**first**_** thing**. I suggest you do it."

Mustang had just managed to un-wedge himself from the remains of the seat by hoisting himself up like a pregnant yoga practitioner, grabbing onto the drawer handles for purchase. This put him in another interesting position and thus made it hard for Riza to keep an eyebrow from raising itself in a perplexed expression, or not to tilt her head again. Due to their positions, she was already looking down at him, and highlighting his humiliation wouldn't help her current goal.

She'd already worked every night this month, so at the very least she was going to take _tonight_ off. Her gaze turned distant. _Tonight..._

"_Roy! Roy, can you hear me? Hello-o?" _The tinny voice registered on her consciousness before her train of thought could start down _that_ particular track. Startled, Riza stared down at the receiver near her feet – apparently let go sometime during the commotion – then traced the cord to its cradle, on the other side of the Colonel, tracking the connection line through the precarious mounds of paperwork to the other side of the desk. _Amazing connection — _Roy's fans could reach him even when something this extreme happened. _How wonderful for them_.

Sardonic thought firming the facial features into their usual mask of stern, uncompromising disproval and work ethic, the female officer looked up as her superior just as he managed to right himself.

"I hardly think that's any reason to shoot me!" He pulled his shirt and jacket down where they had ridden up, picked up the phone and receiver and – turning his back _to her_ – proceeded to continue schmoozing the other woman.

"I'm so sorry honey," he crooned, "there was some _**unwanted **_interference on this side of the line."

"_It was that nasty Lieutenant of yours wasn't it? Honestly someone needs to tell that old battleaxe to lighten up. Or at least get laid, hehe."_

Growling as her sharp ears picked up the other end of the conversation Riza stalked to her desk in order to get her things together. Of course she was still listening to the phone conversation during all this.

"Umm, sure Nina. Anyway I have to get back to work now, I'll talk to you later sweetie. In fact I'll see you soon."

"_Not soon enough honey."_ Sultry, seductive tones set Riza even more on edge. Roy was smart enough to put the phone down quickly and keep his back to the wall as he attempted to sort the piles on his desk to look busy and productive – no sense in drawing attention to the insult if she didn't notice.

Catching her menacing glare three things became apparent; one-she'd overheard the insult and subsequent lack of defence on his part – damn her sniper ears – two-she'd also seen-through his pretence, and three-he might be in serious danger of losing his life. The blast to his chair was proof that his Lieutenant was on the edge of homicidal rage, "Um, sorry about that."

"Don't worry _**Sir**_," He winced. "I expected it of you."

It's amazing how fast you can go from contrite and fearful to insulted and prideful. "_**Ex**cuse _me?"

"Nevermind, Sir." Finished gathering her things, Riza saluted. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, leaving duty at 1700hours."

"Hang on a second!" He had to admit, it stung that he was snubbed, especially by her – of all people! And, being slightly frantic about the absolute _mound_ of paperwork that had literally buried him seconds before, the colonel forgot his earlier decision _**not**_ to antagonise her. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"No Sir, I don't believe I am."

"You have to stay! Who's going to help me with this?" Roy gestured wildly at the desk and surrounding area.

"Helping you with your paperwork isn't included in my duties, and besides; it's after-hours and I need to get home."

"But _why_?" He whined, "It's not like you have a date or a man and last I heard Black Hayate was elsewhere for the night so there's really nothing you—"

"I have plans!" She retorted, slamming the door behind her.

This left her superior nonplussed, staring at the door.

* * *

The walk home was frigid – matching her outer façade. Inside her temper was boiling.

Oh it was easy for them, those idiots, those _men_. All she was to them was a _godamned__** babysitter**__!_

She angrily wiped at her eyes and tried to pretend the heat behind them, the stone that was her heart, didn't exist. That it had another, more logical, explanation.

It was 'common knowledge' that she was feared.

An ice queen.

A gun-toting harpy.

Men shuddered at the thought of being _around_ her, let alone _**dating**_ her.

More than '_common_ knowledge' it was a _common_ comment.

A negative comment.

All she was to the world – and it was unavoidable really; she was a woman in the military. She was a woman in a man's world. And to command respect in that world you have to be strong and completely and utterly without feelings.

_But she did have feelings dammit!_

And it hurt to know she was considered less than him, that apparently she didn't have a life or a past outside of the military, that he dismissed the fact that she might have these things like it was fact. She was just a thing, a concept.

An _inconvenience_.

And she hated it.

And hated him for it.

* * *

The apartment was black, dark and empty – reflecting her mood. She started to look for Black Hayate when she remembered that Fuery was taking him for the night as he was on a night shift in the Technology Department, and he looked like he required some sort of bodyguard. Those teary-eyes had darted from her to Hayate and back several times, eliciting a sigh and rush of maternal-protective instincts.

_I guess I'm on my own tonight_, sighed the young woman. Riza completed her nightly routine of disrobing; satchel and military blazer placed on assigned pegs while her gun holster was placed on the side table at the doorway to the kitchen, her boots echoing slightly.

It was only when a second set of footsteps – a soft measured pad – joined hers that she paused and turned swiftly, hand on her holster.

A figure stood opposite her, in the entrance to the living room, much of his features hidden in shadow. Familiarity registered in his height and Riza tensed.

_No..._

He stepped into the hall and a flash of light sparkled across his eyes, identifying the colour; green not red.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"I was hoping to—" the rest of the sentence was lost as Riza swiftly crossed the distance between them, grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked, bringing his mouth down to hers.

* * *

WitW: Hehe cliffie. Then LEMON. I love my life ^_^

WitW: Pretty long for a first chapter of mine but I wanted to set the scene a bit. Cutting it off here but since I'm doing a one-two-hit-type posting you shouldn't be left wanting…if there are any of you left out there that is…

Roy: Hahaha yeah _how long _has it been since you last posted anything?

*Author kills Roy. Author is now dripping blood*

WitW: Please don't let my absence faze you – I was writing this mostly but RL kept getting in the way and my muse was being a bitch.


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